Closing In
by sunni shine
Summary: OneShot. Tells the untold story of abuse from the Dursleys to Harry. How Harry becomes claustrophobic and afraid of the dark. R&R.


Closing In

**Closing In**

**Disclaimer – **I don't own any thing mentioned in the books or movies.

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Harry Potter wasn't always afraid. No, he used to be happy, he used to be carefree. But then, things started happening. Things he couldn't explain. Strange things, almost magical things. And then Uncle Vernon had started to hate him. Then he had become afraid.

Claustrophobic. That's what he was. Afraid of small places. And he was afraid of the dark. Being shut in a tiny, dark, dingy cupboard day after day did absolutely nothing to help alleviate his fear.

It all started when he was four. He had accidentally made of his Cousin Dudley's action figures walk across the floor, and Dudley didn't like that. He didn't know how he'd done it, or why, but that didn't matter to Uncle Vernon. Immediately after it happened and Dudley started to wail, Uncle Vernon's accusing eyes landed on Harry.

"Why the bloody hell would you do that boy?" He asked with a snarl.

"I didn't Uncle, really, I didn't."

"When I'm finished with you, you'll wish you didn't"

Then there came a slap across his cheek. And then another.

"If you ever, ever dare to upset Dudley again, you'll be in trouble. Got it boy?" He had asked, dragging Harry by his ear. He threw Harry into the cupboard below the stairs, locked it shut, and walked away.

That day, Harry cried. It was only the fourth 'real' cry Harry had had in his short life. The first was when to visit his mother in the hospital for the first time. The second when his third birthday rolled around, and he got no cards, no presents, no one even mentioned his birthday. That was the day he realized the Dursley's didn't care about him at all. The third time was when he found the only surviving picture of him and his parents. Before the accident killed his father and put his mother into a coma. And now this. He let the tears slip silently down his cheeks.

Harry cried all night that night, great hiccupping sobs that took away his breath. He cried for his dead father, his mother forever a vegetable, his bedroom upstairs with a pillow and a nightlight, for the painful red marks across his cheeks, but most of all, for the pitiful life he had no escape from.

He stayed in the cupboard underneath the stairs with only spiders for company for almost four straight days. He was four.

After he turned five, the cupboard had become his permanent residence. The nightmares seemed to fester there. He had no escape. Every night he'd close his eyes and dream of being happy, but he could never hold onto the feeling. It would always slip away and a nightmare would come crashing into his mind.

By the time Harry turned seven, Uncle Vernon had learned not to leave bruises. A punch to the gut was far less noticeable than a slap. A neck pinch was safer than a black eye. No except the family would ever know about the pain Harry was feeling on a daily basis. School was his escape, although, it wasn't much better than home. Dudley and his 'friends' would stalk Harry through the halls, insulting him, tripping him and scaring off anybody who tried to be Harry's friend.

When Harry turned eight, Vernon discovered his fear of the cupboard. He began to use it to his advantage. When Harry got home from school, he was thrown into the cupboard until dinner. After dinner, he was put back in until the next morning. He wasn't allowed much in the cupboard. A scratchy blanket, a cot and the picture of his parents were all. Harry would gather rocks from the sidewalk on the walk home from school, and use them to pass the lonely, dark hours locked away. They were his only friends.

The rocks all got names, Lizzie, Fred, Lisa, Matthew, Brownie, everyone was special. Everyone deserved recognition and love. With the rocks by his side, he found the hours passed more quickly, and his demons came slower. But the nightmares were still there, festering in the dark, waiting to pounce. Just when he would start to fall asleep, or relax he would find himself traveling to the darkest part of his mind. The part where there was no escape. Later on in life, Harry would look back and realize that the rocks saved him from true insanity.

When Harry turned ten, he began to have trouble breathing. He would never dare tell Uncle Vernon about it though; he would just say Harry was being a nuisance. Harry began to be petrified of the thought of staying in the cupboard. He would try to delay the inevitable as long as possible. But it never worked. Uncle Vernon always managed to make Harry stay in it for hours on end, during holidays, it was days on end. He would get a plate of food each day, Aunt Petunia would bring it to his cupboard and he would have to ration it out. While Dudley was eating a feast at each meal, Harry was slowly starving.

One day, after a particularly painful time with Uncle Vernon's fist, Harry went back to his cupboard and felt like he couldn't breathe. He couldn't catch his breath. He was gasping for air. He was going to die, in a cupboard, with people who hated him. His pitiful existence was going to end. Suddenly, some of the fog in his brain lifted. _He was going to die._ Death had never appealed to him before, but now, now he realized that if he died, he wouldn't be abused anymore, he wouldn't have to starve. After all, heaven must have enough food for everyone right? _And what if you don't go to heaven? _A voice in the back of his head remarked. Right, and what about your parents, they would want to see you live. Another said. Harry put his palms against his head, trying to block out the noise. He didn't know what to do. So, he did the obvious thing. He panicked. He started to pound on the door and gasped. By the time Uncle Vernon opened the door, Harry was clutching his throat and ready to give up all hope of ever seeing light again.

Uncle Vernon let Harry sleep in his old room for one night, only one night. The only reason he let him was because of the fear of questions if Harry died or got sick. Why the boy so thin, why does he look as if he is shriveled, why does he have bruises, why are his glasses broken, why is he dirty? All the questions ran through Uncle Vernon's mind, pounding against his skull.

The next day, Harry was back in the cupboard. Back home. He knew that as long as he lived with the Dursley's, he would live in the cupboard with fear as his constant companion.

The next year, Harry Potter turned eleven, and he found an escape from his fear (at least until the summer). Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

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**Author Note: **If you enjoyed this, and want to read more, look for a new joint story "The New Order" written by myself, **if.i.were.a.pineapple.34 **and **kittenscar**. This one shot explains why in "The New Order" Harry is claustrophobic. Read **and **Review Please! Thanks! ( :


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